


The Darkness Knows You Well

by red2007



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, Post-Episode: s07e07 Orison, Season/Series 07
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-20
Updated: 2019-10-20
Packaged: 2020-12-24 15:55:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21102071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/red2007/pseuds/red2007
Summary: Scully and Mulder follow a lead to a small town where some puzzling events and fate offer them a chance to intervene before it's too late. Set mid season 7, post Orison.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [InTroubleWithTheKing](https://archiveofourown.org/users/InTroubleWithTheKing/gifts).

> This story is for Ash (@ashmarinaccio/InTroubleWithTheKing) who asked for a dark, psychological thriller, lust, relationship, case file, maybe some smut. I tried to tick off as many of those as I could, but the smut really just didn't fit the story. 
> 
> Unbeta'd, all mistakes are my own. The characters sadly are not.
> 
> Six weeks ago I had an entirely different story mapped out, but didn't think I had it in me to finish it. This story just kind of tumbled out from a place it apparently needed released from. I've never had to use trigger warnings before but I have to caution you, this story may not be for everyone. There's talk of physical and emotional abuse, spiritual abuse and victimization of the LGBT community - nothing graphic, but psychological. Also, if you are a person of faith, please take this with a grain of salt. I don't wish ill of Christians and this story is in no way meant to generalize. A large portion of this, the setting and the people are all based on my own past experiences, though the last couple chapters are more metaphorical. I hope you all enjoy.

_I've been beaten and broken and tread upon_  
I was made to feel stupid when I was young  
They say, "No" is the answer to the temptations  
But when those demons come rushing, nowhere to run

_-James Arthur, Fall_

It was absolutely black outside, the sound of crickets bounced off the crispness in the January air. Elizabeth pulled closer to her friends as they headed back into the house when she saw it. Like one of those things you see just out of the corner of your eye but when you look there’s actually nothing there. It was dark, and fast—far too big to be a neighbor’s stray cat. As she brought her head around to meet her companions, she realized she hadn’t been the only one to see the figure that was now nowhere to be seen. Looks of horror at the reality of the absolute only thing it would have been hitting them all simultaneously and they bolted for the front door, a safe respite from the obvious evil surrounding them.

Once they were safely inside and had told the other kids in their group what was lurking outside the terrified and defiant teenagers formed a circle and began all but speaking in tongues. “We rebuke you, devil. Be gone from us,” Eric said boldly and with resolve – like he felt the truth of his own words deep in his gut.

“We claim this house and everyone in it in the name of Jesus Christ,” Elizabeth added to the prayer, calling upon some unseen force that she believed would come down and save them from the terrors of the outside world. What was supposed to be a fun night hanging out with friends from church had quickly morphed into an impassioned plea to the only one they knew could save them from the terror and temptations from the outside world.

Elizabeth knew those pleas; she’d been praying them over herself from a very early age. She was different from the other kids in her youth group, but she’d been trying since elementary school to fit in. She held hands and prayed aloud in earnest but the prayers she prayed internally were different._ I claim myself in the name of Jesus, let me not fall into temptation. Let me resist the devil so he will flee from me. Keep my thoughts to myself, keep me in your light._ She’d been praying those words or some variation from such an early age, it was like a mantra. But she knew, the evil had been in her a long, long time. So, she prayed, loud and audaciously, commanding attention and admiration for her reverence. No one knew the internal struggle she was waging or the guilt she felt for allowing a demon in their presence.

Their pleas continued until the friends felt sufficiently covered by the blood of their lord and savior Jesus Christ and they continued the evening with snacks and movies and plenty of laughter, as if nothing was amiss.

They awoke the next morning to find the framed painting of Jesus that hung in a prominent place on the wall shattered. The demons had clearly made it in the house.

>< >< >< ><

“Temperance, Michigan, Mulder?” Scully looked skeptically at the case file. Demons, vandalism, multiple attempts at exorcism. Scully rolled her eyes, _where on earth does he find these cases,_ she wondered and the question was so confounding she had to voice it. “How does one just come across a case of demon possession, Mulder?” Mulder chuckled at the familiar response, no matter what changed between them, some things would always remain the same. This time she’d asked it with one hand holding the file and the other wound around his, a rare public display of affection.

They had been…dating? _Is that even the right word for it,_ he asked himself internally before answering her. The term felt a wholly inadequate way to sum up their current situation after seven years of longing and avoidance. “AOL, Scully,” he replied, giving her hand a squeeze and throwing a wink her way. “Kids these days write the craziest stuff in chat rooms and blogs.” She gave him a halfhearted grin that he could tell was laced with carefully guarded annoyance. This woman seated to his right on the plane confounded him. She claimed to be Catholic, never parted with her cross, and spoke of faith in extravagant metaphors and carefully measured scientific jargon, but she never seemed to believe in demons or otherworldly things that even her bible claimed as fact. Every ounce of her belief was usually carefully crafted around that which she could prove and that which she believed innately, probably a product of her upbringing. She had her faith, but she made it work for her, within the confines of her understanding—like she carved a niche for herself in the Bible and told the angels, “I’ll exist here.” It defied her upbringing, it defied most of what he had always understood about faith and God and it absolutely made him marvel at her.

She was staring at him, watching his brain work, with her head cocked to the side, her thumb absentmindedly tracing a path on his forefinger. She was glad they’d allowed themselves this, it was soothing and still relatively new.

“Anyway,” he broke both their errant thoughts, bringing the case back to the forefront. “There’s been some bizarre happenings to the people in this community lately and it made its way into the annals of the world wide web.”

“_After a church service was interrupted by a crow flying into the window only to die immediately, the congregation of First Holiness Evangelical Church were certain God was trying to tell them something,”_ she read aloud from the newspaper clipping stapled in front. “How on earth did this make it in the newspaper, Mulder? A dead crow? You can’t be serious.”

“That was just the start, Scully,” he warned, releasing her hand to gesture down further in the article. “Not even a week later there was a series of broken headstones in the nearby graveyard, and a teen committed suicide right in the cross window the bird flew into.” He was keyed up, she could tell he was excited about the case, as futile as it seemed.

“Coincidences, Mulder,” she refuted. “You can’t believe this is all connected.” She flipped through a few more pages that showed the broken headstones, autopsy photos. “This suicide is clearly not related at all,” she assured him as she read the pathology report. “There’s nothing in here to suggest anything other than a poor, bullied and emotionally unstable teenager who cut his own wrists.” She turned to the obituary and the case notes on the boy noting, “he didn’t even go to the church, Mulder.”

“Do you know that dead birds, specifically crows, are thought to be an omen of death?” He asked and she closed the file, settling in. _Here he goes,_ she thought to herself, a telltale smile creeping into her expression as he began to masterfully weave his lesson and she offered a blank expression while she inwardly could feel the anticipation. Passionate, intellectual Mulder was her favorite Mulder…even if half of the time he used his intellect to weave invisible threads and sew together horribly unrelated scenarios. “It used to be thought if you saw a crow, he was the harbinger of death. While there are some sects of English origin who count crows as a sign of good fortune, the Celts believed he brought death and conflict. Others believed it was an omen of change – bringing about transformations.” He paused, hazarding her a brief glance to ensure she was as enraptured as she looked. “I’m not saying the church, or the crow are why the boy killed himself or why any of this other stuff is going on, but there’s enough to suspect maybe an environmental cause, be it fantastical or entirely scientific, could be at play here.”

She laughed a little at that, the way he knit her back into the rant toward the end with a caveat. She worked her hand back into his, ignoring the way the nerves in her hand sent a shiver from the tips of her fingers all the way up to C8 and she assured herself it was just the nervousness of flying.


	2. Chapter 2

Scully, a navy brat, was getting car sick. They were driving down the most off beaten and obscure path they’d taken through a cover of forest and the curves in the road were rattling all of her internal organs.

“Slow down,” she warned Mulder, gripping the door handle to steady the queasiness within her. The flight to the Toledo Express Airport had been bad enough, but this was threatening to do her in. He glanced over, sensing her unease and caught sight of her pale expression, dropping his speed by about 5 mph and making a concerted effort to lean a little more into the curves.

“Sorry,” he offered. “We’ll be there in just a few minutes, the church is just up ahead,” he assured her seeing a sign in the distance. He pulled into the packed parking lot and brought the car to a slow and gentle stop, hoping to not jostle his partner any further. Once the he’d put it in park and turned off the car, he shifted to face her, a warm hand landing on the shoulder of her black suit jacket. He fought a wave of nostalgia remember the shoulder pads that used to reside there. “You okay?” He wondered, softly kneading her trapezius with the pads of his fingers.

She nodded, leaning into his touch as subtly as she could. Every time he touched her these days it was like her nerve endings were bursting into flames. Had it always been like this, or was it just knowing they were teetering on the border of certain untapped passion? Scully wasn’t sure, but she hoped it would always be like this. “I’ll be fine,” she promised, grabbing the strap of her briefcase as they both got out of the car. They could hear the stains of an unfamiliar cadence urging god to open the eyes to their hearts as they made their way toward the bizarrely shaped building. They’d noticed the cross once they’d pulled in the drive, it was built into the brick from the base to the ceiling, the window offering a quick glimpse of the sea of congregants gathered inside for a Sunday morning service. The building itself looked like a patchwork of additions forced together in some obscure and unnamable shape, the entire thing in ancient yet pristine red brick with sparse but concentrated landscaping, near the ample parking lot that abutted a large garage and a vast wooded area in the distance.

As they walked inside, they could tell the building had been through plenty of renovations, fresh paint, new fixtures that seemed to stand in stark contrast to the age told by the brick outside. The music was all around them now as they stood alone in a foyer, watching the service through large glass windows at the back of the sanctuary. Mulder picked up a program from a table near the entrance and surmised, “they’re just about done.” He stood near the windowed wall and observed. The energy in the bizarrely geometric room would have been palpable, whether he subscribed to it or not. The church goers were animated, hands raised, singing loudly with the words being projected on the screen. Nearly everyone was standing, some dancing in place, swaying to the music with their eyes closed, worrying their hands together like they have an overflow of something and no idea what to do with it. Others were seated, a few with hands raised and waiving in the air while they sang, like it was a recompense for their inability to remain vertical for the set. The bulk of the attendees were somewhere between 20 and 60, with the exception of a few young children and a large group of teenagers occupying the 2nd row off to the left of the stage.

He watched the teenagers for a while, puzzled. They were just as, if not more, animated than the adults in the room—faces contorted with passion, offering up their worship as if their very lives depended on it. Their arms raised in surrender, bouncing on their toes as if to catapult themselves to the heavens if only God would swoop them up. As disconcerting as it was, he’d seen far more bizarre antics from a church service—these just seemed to be people passionate about what they believed in.

Scully saw Mulder nod at something out of the corner of her eye and she turned just in time to see a tense exchange between he and who she presumed to be the pastor as he walked up to the stage once the music set was finished. Clearly, he’d called ahead, but the pastor didn’t seem thrilled with the intrusion. They observed a quick prayer, thanking God for the blessings he’d bestowed on them all and asking for protection as they ventured off into a lost and forsaken world. She’d expected the floodgates to open and the foyer to be filled once it was over, like it always was in the Catholic churches she grew up in, but quite the contrary. There were a few people who filed out but the occupants in the sanctuary seemed to flock together in groups, exchanging hugs and conversation. The only one making a beeline for the doors was the pastor, with Mulder in his sites.

“Pastor West,” Mulder began, stretching out his hand toward the man. Pastor Bryan West appeared to be in his mid to late 30s, young and decidedly handsome with a chiseled jaw and a face like Jon Stewart. His brown hair was pristinely coifed, parted on one side and he had kind, albeit annoyed brown eyes. “I’m Agent Fox Mulder and this is my partner Agent Dana Scully of the FBI.” Scully met the pastor’s polite handshake and offered him a tight-lipped smile. Nothing about the entire scene they’d encountered seemed off or odd. Evangelical churches were known for their exuberance and showmanship—though she’d only met evangelicals who described it as the ‘holy spirit’. It had always seemed a bit cultish to her, but since she’d started on the X-Files the term ‘cult’ had taken on a whole new meaning. This church was like most other churches and she was certain they wouldn’t find anything there.

“Agents,” the soft-spoken pastor began. “Welcome, but as I told you on the phone, Agent Mulder, we’re not needing the expertise of the FBI.” The pastor shifted his Bible under his armpit, speaking in hushed tones so he didn’t disrupt any of his flock that had slowly begun filtering into the wide hallway.

“All the same, Pastor, it couldn’t hurt just to look around and talk to some members of your church,” Mulder pressed, tossing a smile at a few of the people casting puzzled glances in their direction. Pastor West seemed to acquiesce and gave a resigned nod, no doubt realizing that the quickest way to rid them of the intrusion was to be as cooperative as possible. Sure, there had been some entirely unexplainable events recently and he had had a gnawing feeling of unease for the last few months, one that settled deep in his gut and wouldn’t let him ease. In the interest of speeding the investigation along, he decided to keep his deep-seated unease to himself.

The group was interrupted by a loud hoot from down near the far door, another man in his 40s had corralled a toddler and tossed him over his shoulder with a laugh and a holler, the toddler squealing with glee the whole time. The man caught sight of the three of them and with a cheerful smile on his face, headed in their direction – the child still along for the ride. He was stockier than the pastor, a well-trimmed goatee and kind eyes and he extended hand once he was close enough with a boisterous, “Hey ya, how the heck are ya?” Mulder accepted the handshake, firm and unimposing. Scully reached over to shake his hand, maneuvering her body from the feet of the toddler protruding into their space.

“Peter, these are Agents Mulder and Scully,” West explained, gesturing to the pair. “They’ve come to poke around into some of the events that have gone on here recently.” West and Peter shared a quick exchange, locking eyes and nodding imperceptibly. “Agents, this is Peter Beauchamp. He’s one of the elders here at First Holiness.”

“What could the FBI possibly hope to find in a couple of random, unfortunate sets of circumstances?” Peter wondered, his question almost a scoff, finally relinquishing the toddler to run and find his parents. _He’s not wrong_, Scully thought. This was far outside the jurisdiction of the FBI, but she’d been known to follow Mulder’s hunches all around the nation on far less. A tiny voice in the back of her head told her that his hunches usually panned out. She ignored it.

“We just want to see if there’s possibly anything else going on behind the scenes to help explain them,” Mulder countered. “We specialize in the more obscure and unexplained cases and these have piqued our interest.” He held a level gaze with the elder and Scully thought she sense a bit of a standoff occurring silently. After a pregnant pause Peter broke into a wide grin and nodded.

“Couldn’t hurt to look around, assuage your curiosity,” the man replied. “We’re just a close-knit community though, I don’t think there’ll be much to satisfy it. But, stick around, perhaps you’ll find something you didn’t know you were looking for.” The man gave an exaggerated point heavenward and reached an arm out to grab ahold of one of the teenagers they’d seen worshiping inside. Her face burst in a smile at the unexpected show of affection and they watched as she wrapped small arms around Peter’s waist. He had a very loving countenance and it was clear he was beloved, peace and acceptance dripping from the girl’s pores.

“Is this your daughter?” Scully asked, smiling at the girl who was cocooned in the man’s arms. She stood a few inches shorter than Scully would without heels with shoulder length brown hair and freckles littering her pale, round face. At the question she was sure she saw a longing as the girl’s blue eyes briefly met her own, giving away the answer.

“Not on paper,” Peter gave a reply, dropping a kiss to the crown of the girl’s head. “This is Elizabeth. My spiritual daughter.” Elizabeth beamed, clearly happy with the title. “My wife and I have five adopted children, but we claim so many more. Her parents aren’t around, so we’ve stepped in where we could.” Mulder gave the teen a quick wave and Scully smiled at her, noticing how she suddenly wouldn’t make eye contact with her and found it odd, but just assumed her shy.

“Well,” Pastor West interjected. “We all meet up at the mall down the street and have lunch in the food court, so we all should be gathering our troops.” He turned toward the agents and added, “feel free to look around. I’ll gather some of the teens before service tonight and a few of us will be available to answer your questions then as well.” West said all this highly distracted, parishioners leaning over to hug him, thanking him for his message as they walked toward the door behind them and out into the frigid winter air. They separated, Mulder and Scully hanging off in a corner while throngs of people slowly vacated the space. Their conversation was filled with skeptical Scully assuring him there was nothing to find here and they danced their usual dance with such practiced precision they almost didn’t hear a conversation from around the corner, a few feet away.

“FBI,” Peter offered, in response to a question they’d missed. “They’re going to be poking around for a little bit.” Both Mulder and Scully quieted and began listening intently.

“What’d they say to Elizabeth?” A woman, presumably his wife asked, her voice laced with measured concern.

“Just a hello,” Peter reassured her, putting his coat on and holding hers for her. “There’s nothing for them to find.” They heard the couple share a brief kiss.

Mulder leaned closer to the edge of the wall just in time to hear the woman softly respond, “even so, let’s keep her close.” He felt their movement and spun his body away from them, misjudging the distance and colliding with Scully. His momentum had sandwiched her between the wall and his firm, lean body, his arms coming up to grip her forearms in hopes of steadying them from the unexpected contact. She found her hands had unconsciously grabbed ahold of the belt of his long coat and she could feel his breathing on her own chest. There was hardly a space where they weren’t connected, his knees rubbing against her thighs, his belt digging into her belly, his breath whispering along her left cheek. Neither made an effort to move, instead they locked eyes. PDA on the plane had been semantics; their case hadn’t technically started yet. This, this was an indulgence. The air between them seemed charged, as thick and heady as if they could physically see the energy moving and swirling around them. Their collective breaths quickened, the euphoria only cementing itself further upon realization that they were close enough to be sharing breaths.

“Sorry,” he said gently, the low timber of his voice reverberating along his torso and she felt it in her own. She shook her head imperceptibly and smiled, finding the wherewithal to shift her focus from his plump bottom lip and her own desire to run her tongue along it. They were on a case; albeit an unnecessary one, but, nonetheless. He sensed her shift and took a gradual step back, missing the contact instantaneously. The family in question long gone, they found themselves alone in the church.

“So, what’s the plan?” Scully wondered once they’d found their way back to the reality of the situation. They walked through the nearest door leading into the sanctuary, the space warm and inviting, the ceiling lined with decades old cedar sloping high above them. They meandered their way through the aisles, chairs lined in perfect rows facing the stage.

“I figure we’ll look around here for a bit then maybe head over the cemetery,” he told her as he shuffled through programs and books that had been left littering the seats. He walked over to the left of the room in the section where the teenagers had been seated, sliding a couple of Bibles back into their place underneath the chair he heard a thud from behind the row. Walking around he saw a leather-bound journal had fallen from its position hidden under a chair. He picked it up and leafed through it, clearly a diary the pages were scribbled with intimate thoughts and secret fears. There were drawings every few pages wedged in around the words, haphazard penciled in drawings of female faces, a scattered dark almost monstrous figures and a few well drawn, detailed images of voluptuous female forms. The words he could make out on the pages appeared to be prayers, wishes almost, begging for deliverance from evil. It spoke of visions and temptations, some of which seemed to stem from the persons depicted in the graphite depictions on the pages.

“What’s that?” He heard Scully walking in his direction having noticed him stop. He turned toward one of the most recent entries and saw a drawing of a lifeless crow superimposed on a simple sketch that had his breath halt and his heart quicken. It was rudimentary, for sure, but the face behind the crow had a distinctive jawline, crooked, full lips and a beauty mark just above them. He noticed the detail that’d been added in the lines of her cheek bones and the almost ethereal stare coming from well defined irises that seemed to look at your soul from off the page. He closed the book as soon as he heard her coming up behind him, leaving a thumb marking the page he realized he would need to show her. His body straightened just before he collapsed in one of the seats. _A psychic teenager_, a decided. _Or at least someone with foresight,_ he told himself as Scully sat next to him, extending her hand in request for the book. He contemplated hiding it for just a moment before handing it over. He watched as she flipped through the pages, commenting at the care with which the owner had taken with some of the drawings until she stopped and brought her eyes up to meet Mulder’s, panic and disbelief warring with each other on her face. “How…” she began, struggling to find the words one should use when coming face to face with yourself in a journal, in a church, in a town they’d never visited.

“She speaks on some of the pages about visions, Scully. Perhaps she saw us coming, but you seem to have left an impression,” his words were almost soothing considering the circumstances and in his minds eye he saw her face contorted in a picture from years ago, remembered his panic as she was once again pulled into a case they were on. The photo of her death and the madness of her capture aside, this likeness was less ominous and more reverent—the superimposed crow below her face aside.

“She?” Scully wondered aloud, beginning to read the page to herself. _I can’t get her out of my mind, Lord. The sharp jut of her chin, the blue of her eyes, I can’t stop seeing her and the more I see her the more I want to continue. Please take these visions from me, I know they’re not from you. Peter and Mirabel have made that clear, I don’t want them, even when I do. I don’t know when I’ll meet her, I want to tell myself that she’s just my imagination. I know that’s not true and I don’t want any of this. They’re going to be cleansing me this weekend, maybe that’s why my whole body is on edge—like it knows something’s coming. Trying to get out of me. I feel like everything’s about to change and I’m scared. Please, Holy Spirit, protect me._

“The text and the handwriting make me think the author is female,” he shared, pointing out a few slants and euphemisms. “And judging by a couple of the homoerotic scribblings in there and the deep care and detail, I’d say she’s deeply struggling with her sexuality about as much as the visions she’s been having.”

“Elizabeth.” Scully said suddenly and her eyes met his. “She would barely look at me, Mulder,” she told him, remembering the way the girl avoided her smile. It certainly made sense now.

He nodded in agreement, “it also explains why I heard Mrs. Beauchamp tell him to keep her close.” He took the book from Scully and slid it into his pocket, offering her a hand as they exited the auditorium and the church. “Let’s go check out that cemetery,” he suggested, starting the car and cranking up the heat.

She agreed, adding “then perhaps we can get checked into a hotel and have an early dinner before the service tonight.” He looked at her in amazement, steering the car into traffic. She hid a knowing smile behind half of her hand, elbow resting on the door. “What? I’m intrigued,” she admitted with a well-intended eyeroll.

Mulder, however, did absolutely nothing to hide his own grin.


	3. Chapter 3

_So we'll hide away and never tell  
You decide if darkness knows you well  
That lesson of love, all that it was  
I need you to see___  
I know that day's gonna come  
I just want the devil to hate me

_– Dermot Kennedy, Power Over Me_

It wasn’t surprising to be met by the embodiment of her own visions—that shock had died out years ago. Growing up in a house that derided anything even remotely on the fringe of supernatural as devil worship had only left her with a sense of shame when her dreams became reality. Shame was her constant companion, that and guilt. Guilt for clearly allowing demonic forces to invade the very depths of her soul. It wasn’t enough that she had to have some sort of psychic ability that she didn’t ask for, but her preoccupation with her female friends and her deepest imaginings was an evil that she couldn’t allow herself to engage with.

She’d felt like an outcast for as long as she could remember, growing up in a broken home with an abusive father. She supposed in some of her darkest moments that she’d caused the abuse and perhaps her abilities and sexuality were some form of atonement she had to pay. That’s what she’d gathered from the highlighted text that her spiritual parents had shared with her. They’d also told her though that there was nothing she couldn’t overcome without the help and cleansing from God. They were always pushing her to be the best version of herself she could be, and she loved them for it.

She hadn’t been looking for parents, her dad a rare and oblivious visitor when it was convenient for him. Their relationship had been disjointed and tumultuous as she grew and the reality of what he’d done settled into her maturing understanding. Her mother had moved the previous year, leaving Elizabeth in the care of relatives as she finished high school. She didn’t need parents, she was sure, but parents had found her and filled a void she hadn’t even known she needed filled. She had insinuated herself into their makeshift family and followed their instructions toward redemption and forgiveness. Daily quiet time, abandoning her old friends who had been nothing but bad influences, tempting her with tantalizing music and activities that would only feed her own internal struggle. In a matter of a year or two she’d been saved and was mentoring younger kids in the youth group about denying yourself, taking up your cross and following Jesus Christ.

But the darkness ebbed and flowed all around her. She’d drawn a dead crow and her vision of the FBI agent’s face in her journal late on a Saturday night when sleep just wouldn’t come. The very next morning, right in the middle of Pastor Bryan’s message there was a loud _CRASH_ not 10 feet from where she’d been seated. Once she’d seen the crow laying lifeless in the base of the cross window she’d jumped up and run outside, Peter hot on her heels. She could hear him offering up quiet prayers as she knelt down on the cold, snow covered ground. She ignored the bite of the cold wetness as it seeped into her core, spreading through her jeans, a cadence of _no, no, no, no, not again_ running through her head.

Peter had ushered her inside to one of the offices, wrapping a coat around her and holding her while she’d sobbed, and he prayed over her. Mirabel had joined them once the commotion in the sanctuary had subsided and they’d called a close to the service while someone called animal control.

“I saw him last night,” she’d shared, and they’d gasped, stepping up their protective chants around her. She knew it was a sign that something bad was coming and she knew, as she’d been taught, that she was likely the vessel. Her inability to keep her predilections at bay, despite her own sacrifices to that end would be the agent of change that she was certain the crow symbolized.

“You’re unusually quiet,” Maribel said reaching out to squeeze Elizabeth’s wrist and offered her a sweet and genuine smile, sitting next to her on the couch. They’d gone back to the Beauchamp house after lunch, Elizabeth having left her car at the church preferring to spend her Sundays with her chosen family. “How’s the fast going?”

In an attempt to prepare her body for the cleansing that night she had been voluntarily fasting. To be honest she was famished, allowing herself only water and breads before sunup and after sundown in perfectly carefully decided proportions. The activities this morning had her keyed up and the hunger was distant compared to the internal battle she was facing.

“I’m okay,” she promised. “I feel like something’s building to a crescendo, but I don’t have the rest of the sheet music…” she let her voice trail off and pulled the throw closer around her legs. “Peter said those people are from the FBI.”

Maribel draped her arm around the younger, clearly tortured girl. She knew the night the girl had ahead of her and that she’d need all the comfort possible to get her in the right frame of mind to withstand the cleansing. “Don’t you worry about them,” her tone was reassuring and the arms that surrounded her made Elizabeth feel safe. “You don’t do any of this on purpose, right?”

Elizabeth bit her lip, she knew the answer. She wasn’t always great at pushing the deluge of thoughts from her mind all the time, and sometimes the visions were interesting and maybe she’d willed them to come a few times. They weren’t all dark and imposing. She knew, even as ridiculous as it seemed that she didn’t cause the events that her visions showed her. Long ago she thought maybe she could affect them, stop the ones she could but that had turned out to be futile and the more she had tried to manage the flow of life the more she found herself unhealthily preoccupied with her own abilities. For a short time, she had falsely believed there was a balance she could strike but in the last year, with all she’d learned she knew that allowing the devil even a single foothold could have dangerous and hellish consequences for her. So, she denied as much as she could and castigated herself in private when she faltered.

“Not on purpose,” she started, her voice barely above a whisper as she added, “usually.” At that response, Mirabel reached over and grabbed a Bible from its place on the coffee table.

“Let’s spend some time in Matthew 16,” she suggested, and Elizabeth nodded, recalling the words she’d committed to memory years ago. She nodded and began anew the daily process of asking for forgiveness for her sins of putting herself first and choosing herself above the will of God.

>< >< >< ><

They sat across from each other in a booth at a local Big Boy, Mulder tucking into a juicy well-dressed burger while Scully picked at her salad, lost in thought. Their trip to the cemetery was puzzling, none of the broken headstones held any sign of external stresses to suggest vandalism or a physical intervention. There could still be some environmental factor like the weather, though four headstones, unevenly placed in the earth with even cracks straight through the middle didn’t seem to be possible. Scully had to admit that even her theory that the shifting the earth would have even caused some varying striations in the stone.

Even still, after they’d checked into their adjoining rooms at the Red Roof Inn she’d gotten her laptop out and spent a short time researching the fault lines in the southwestern Michigan area, looking for some scientific backing so she didn’t have to admit how absolutely creeped out she was to her partner. He’d just leaned against the doorframe between their rooms, watching her amused as her brain tossed over and rejected theory after theory.

Mulder had intimated that broken gravestones were generally thought to be symbolic of a release of the souls of the departed, that it would take a great spiritual force to even manage something of that nature. And when Philip, the groundskeeper, had told them that the kids from the local youth group liked to frequent the area it sent them into quiet contemplation.

“You don’t actually think she’s causing all of this, do you?” She pondered as she pushed at a piece of lettuce before stabbing it and slice of tomato with her fork and forcing herself to take a bite. Mulder swallowed, setting down his burger and wiping his hands on his napkin. He took a long draught of iced tea and shook his head.

“No, I don’t,” he said and then continued. “But I do believe that the other people in the church do.” He settled back in his seat. “Fear leads people to extreme action, look at the Salem witch trials. Forward thinking and outspoken women were reduced to being burned as witches because they went against the norm. If it can’t be explained by biblical text it becomes something not of God and, as people have interpreted scripture for centuries, if it’s not of God, it’s something against God.” He nibbled on a fry while Scully thought about what he’d said. She never subscribed to that aspect of religion, knowing that goodness isn’t inherently godliness. One doesn’t necessarily require the other, plenty of atrocities had been carried out in the name of God and she was certain it flew in direct defiance of some scripture she held dear. “If there’s some spiritual battle taking place here, I think she’s at the crux of it, but I don’t think she’s the cause. Most instances of demonic possession tend to manifest physically, thrashing and intense anger. Subjects usually appear to be an entirely new person, often with a deep gruff voice not belonging to themselves. She just seems like a struggling teen with a gift and tendencies that the people she’s surrounded herself don’t understand and fear.”

“She’s definitely fighting a battle, I just wonder what it’s costing her,” Scully replied, her heart going out to the girl. Life, especially that of a teenager, was hard enough without having everyone around you convincing you that you were practically evil incarnate. She offered up a silent prayer of thanks that her parents, while strict practicing Catholics had cultivated her curiosity from a very young age and taught her to reason and seek out truth in any circumstance. “Before Donnie Pfaster, I don’t think I would have believed the assertion that demons walk among us,” she locked eyes with him and saw him lending her his strength at the mention of her recent ordeal. “But I’ve seen it, and I still can’t begin to explain it.”

He reached over then and laced their fingers together, holding tight. He knew she was still reeling from her encounter with Pfaster, they both were, but she’d spent a week grappling with her decision to end his life. She’d gone to be with her mother for a few days while her apartment was being cleaned and he knew she’d gone to church to find solace; to help her accept the choice she’d made. Later that fateful night, after a bag was packed and she’d scoured her body in his shower, he’d held her tightly in his bed and she’d told him of the image she’d seen, Pfaster’s face contorted and demonic. And while, nearly forty and still grappling with his own belief in angels and demons, heaven and hell—he believed her, intuitively.

His rational skeptic, who needed a scientific explanation for everything she saw had come apart in his arms at the knowledge that she’d had firsthand experience not once but twice, with the devil himself. “Are you okay that we’re here?”

She gave a nodded her head in the affirmative. “I’ve made my peace with my own demons, Mulder. And whether I understand the significance and ramifications or not, I can’t put my own career on pause while I sort it all out.” She took a deep, steadying breath and fixed a smile at him. “Especially since I’m certain your hunch probably won’t pan out this time.” The waitress came by and he immediately handed her cash, taking one last swig of his drink and another fry.

“We’ll just see about that, Scully,” he teased right back, pulling himself up from his seat and reaching out to offer her his hand. They both took a moment to put their coats one once she was standing and as she was about to walk away, he reached over, caught her hand in his. “Hey,” he said just above a whisper, pulling her in for a hug, wanting to reinforce his presence; wanting her to know she wasn’t going through any of it alone. She went willingly into his arms, hers coming to meet behind his back, her head nestled just under his chin. They stood there, breathing each other in, Scully soaking up all of the strength and compassion he was lending her, feeling a hand at the small of her back and one holding her head as if he could protect her from all the ills in the world.


	4. Chapter 4

_ When everything was broken_   
_The devil hit his second stride_   
_But you remember what I told you_   
_Someday, I'll need your spine to hide behind_

_-Dermot Kennedy, Lost_

Broken. No, not broken. Defeated. No one had prepared her for this. Her face was hot and streaked with tears and her mouth was filled with the vile tang of blood from where she’d chewed on her lip in nervousness. Her soul and her body felt drained from the ordeal, compounded by the fasting she’d committed to a week ago, but she sensed from her guides that she was hardly done.

There was soft music playing in the corner, it was haunting and under normal circumstances she would probably call it beautiful. It was being drowned out with the sounds of Mirabel and her friend Kendra praying, incessantly in a language she’d never heard and was certain they didn’t know. She knew they were praying for her deliverance but at this point in the ritual she wasn’t sure what that deliverance looked like.

She’d been ushered into one of the rooms upstairs overlooking the sanctuary and she immediately noticed the curtains were drawn. She also knew from childhood experience that these windows were heavily soundproofed unless you were pounding directly on the glass. She was already feeling a little weak and the anxiety ripping through her only added to it. She’d been made to sit on a folding chair in the center of the room, lit sparsely from a single light on a dimmer. She knew from the little information she found that sensory depravation was a large part of cleansing rituals. Still, she trusted her guides instinctively and she was a willing participant.

They began with Peter explaining to her that in order for them to exorcise any demons that remained in her she would have to confess everything. Her deepest fears, her darkest secrets, all the demons she’d kept in recesses of her mind, closed off and carefully avoided for years out of self-preservation or necessary denial. He’d then covered her eyes with a blindfold, explaining to her that other than praying they wanted to afford her a small amount of anonymity so she could tell all.

And they began.

It was harrowing and painful, recounting her abuse and the guilt she felt as a result of it. She shared experiences she’d shared with boys as early as elementary school. The tears began when she recounted the first time she’d ever kissed a girl and the first time she felt she really was attracted to girls. She shared the first time she’d had a vision and how it made her feel powerful. She talked about sneaking out, lying to her mom, stealing cigarettes when she was 11. Smoking marijuana in her basement late at night with her old best friend. Getting drunk with her cousin.

Eventually the confessions weren’t enough, and Peter began to probe her for more, sensing she was omitting things. He forced her to admit guilt to things she’d never even considered her fault. He began twisting her confessions and as she heard this man, she trusted with her entire being manipulating her own memories her body heaved, wracked with sobs at the whole experience. She felt a trash can being thrust in front of her and she vomited, her body beginning to hyperventilate. She wanted to run, to bolt for the door but there were strong hands on her knees, and she knew she couldn’t move. She didn’t have control over her nervous system and the sense of dread that encapsulated her was like a thick wave coating every part of her body, cutting her off from air.

This was supposed to be a freeing experience, the weight was supposed to be lifting off of her with each confession, with each prayer uttered but instead she felt like she was being crushed and buried, little by little. Her weeping was now fighting the background music for top billing and it was all around her. She heard the sobs in her head, felt them in her chest. But there was no way out.

They continued and somewhere a brave voice she was certain wasn’t hers whispered in some corner of her mind that she was fearfully and wonderfully made even as she felt herself crumble.

>< >< >< ><

Mulder parked their car when they’d arrived back at the church. Pastor West had said they could talk to a few of the church goers, but he had to admit, though not aloud to Scully, that perhaps they had been chasing after a few coincidences wrapped up in evangelical paranoia. He really hoped that’d be the case, for some reason he wanted to be wrong about a supernatural explanation for all of the bizarre happenings there.

The weight of the journal still in his pocket felt heavier with the knowledge of the emotional manipulation being wielded toward its owner. While Scully had researched tectonic plates and fault lines, he’d read through as much of the book as he could, ignoring the idea that he was intruding. The girl was a perpetual victim, longing for role models and in one of the deepest states of denial he’d ever witnessed. She saw herself as a problem to be solved instead of a unique and vastly talented young woman. All of her plans, her hopes and dreams were borrowed, and she longed for them to come to fruition though he suspected even if she had them all they wouldn’t sustain her.

He remembered a parable from Sunday school back before his own family had been wrecked about two men building houses, a wise man building his house upon rock and a foolish one building a house upon sand. He understood the religious symbolism present, but also could see how she was mistaking biblical standards for rock instead of a firm sense of pride in oneself and self-love. Planning a life without truly knowing what you want, what satisfies and fulfills you is an invitation for torrential storms to tear the whole thing flat.

He glanced over at Scully and was awash with sudden emotion. He paused in his step toward the building, overcome with gratitude for the strides they’d both taken to get where they were. He thought about how she broke from her familial expectations and followed her own path with the hope of distinguishing herself in a sea of hard-nosed men. Even fresh faced and optimistic that first day he knew that even then she knew who she was and so had he. He thanked a deity he didn’t believe in that they’d had strong enough belief in themselves that they didn’t let the weight of the masses deter them. While he’d argue that she’d have been far less endangered had she stayed in medicine he selfishly admitted to himself that he needed her. Had for years.

They’d carefully crafted a partnership unmatched by any he’d ever encountered. They shared a trust and mutual respect that saved their lives repeatedly, and the lives of others. Their connection to one another had come easily but had been honed and crafted over the years by stray bullets, assassination attempts, aliens, and their own government. And it still stood true, a pillar for them to cling to during the loss of a parent or existential crises of faith.

He and Scully had pieced together a foundation made of raw uncut diamond over the last seven years, each layer filled with new challenges and new discoveries that they’d conquered together.

“You okay?” Her question interrupted his train of thought and suddenly he could feel the numbness creeping into his skin. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been standing there in contemplation, but the touch of her hand to his cheeks and forehead was a welcome warmth. He shook his head, pushing his ruminations aside for further contemplation later and he grabbed her hand from its familiar path through his hair. He wove their fingers together and brought her hand up, placing a tender and deliberate kiss at her pulse point, eyes boring into hers.

“We’re lucky, Scully,” he gave her another quick kiss to the wrist and added, “next time you talk to God, thank him for me.” He gestured toward the door while she stood befuddled at the shift in his tone. She shook her head slightly, convinced that he would always keep her guessing. She filed the interaction away for a more appropriate time and led the way back into the church.

The building seemed more deserted than they would have assumed by the state of the parking lot and the handful of cars parked outside. They walked into the sanctuary where a few of the teenagers were sitting, quietly talking amongst themselves. There was a nervousness that seemed present in the group, like there was an elephant in the room they were carefully working to avoid.

Mulder walked over and sat down next to one of the younger ones, “Hey.” The kid shuffled a little but gave Mulder a forced bright smile, teeth and all. “Is Pastor West or Peter here yet?” The quiet chatter ceased and couple kids cleared their throats and Scully and Mulder exchanged worried looks.

“We haven’t seen them,” one of the older boys in the group offered, definitively.

“What’s your name,” Scully asked the younger boy, probably 13, sitting next to Mulder. She smiled at him and crouched down so she was at his level.

“Samuel,” the boy replied in a hushed tone. There was such fear and reverence among the group, both Mulder and Scully knew there was something seriously wrong.

“Samuel, that’s a great name,” she told him. “I used to have a friend named Samuel.” She didn’t. He didn’t need to know that. “Have you seen your friend Elizabeth?” _Cut to the chase, _she told herself. _Then watch them squirm_. And squirm they did, a few of them casting furtive glances at one of the windows across the vast room, high above them. Neither she nor Mulder wasted any time. He pointed out a door towards the back of the sanctuary and they fell into a brisk walk, ignoring the sounds of the older kids chiding Samuel as they burst through the door. A small, narrow winding stairway greeted them, and they took the stairs two at a time, the closer they got they recognized the sound of Elizabeth crying muffling a chanting sort of prayer. It got louder as they ascended the stairs and once the reached the top both of them reached for their guns, though certain they wouldn’t need them; safety first. Mulder silently motioned for her to stay behind me as he crept up to the door on their left. He tried the handle, but it had been clearly locked from the inside. He could hear Elizabeth practically hyperventilating on the other side and he nodded at Scully.

“FBI! Open the door!” He warned but received no response other than the sobs turning into muffled screams. Taking a step back and using the wall to propel himself he gave the door a swift and solid kick right below the door handle, the wood straining and bursting apart granting them entrance to the dimly lit room. The chanting stopped, the sobs did not. Peter stood immediately, positioning himself between Elizabeth and the agents and Mulder trained his gun right at center mass.

“You have no right to be here,” the man practically growled at him. “We are a protected establishment.”

“You aren’t protected to commit child abuse,” Mulder heard Scully practically scream from behind him. She moved around Mulder whose weapon was still raised and she shoved the bigger man aside with a force he didn’t know she had. By now, Elizabeth had raised her blindfold and her streaked and red face filled with gratitude at the sight of Scully. She lifted the blindfold off the girl’s head, stoking the wet hair and began a quick examination. She could smell the bucket filled with bile on the other side of the girl and it was clear the girl had soiled herself at some point during the ordeal.

Mulder noticed clips on either side of the windows, and the waterproof sheet laid out on top of the carpeted floor. He ran his eyes over the room and could see noise absorbing fixtures that would seem entirely innocuous to anyone else. This wasn’t the first exorcism they’d performed. Even if they were able to get the local authorities to prosecute, he doubted she would be the last.

Scully noted the girl’s pulse was dangerously low and below the spent feverish look on her face the girl had a disturbing pallor, her lips chapped, veins in her arms protruding. She reached into her pocket for her phone, immediately dialing 9-1-1. The fact that the girl was still upright given her emaciated, dehydrated state was a testament to her strong will.

“You have no right to take her,” Maribel countered after Scully had ended the call. “We love her, and we know what’s best for her. These demons she’s fighting…she doesn’t know how to handle them.”

“Maybe that’s because you’re the demons she’s been fighting,” Scully snapped, her look of disgust was not lost on Mulder. “You’ve taken a perfectly normal, albeit special child and convinced her that in order to be the best version of herself she needs to change things about her that were never meant to be changed!” Scully was practically shrieking with rage, her arms firmly held around the girl who, without the battle waging, was struggling to sit.

“All due respect, Agent,” Peter spat on the last word, mocking the respect he was certain she didn’t earn. “You are meddling in things you can’t begin to understand.”

At that, Mulder reached in his back pocket and produced a pair of handcuffs. “Enough,” he announced before Scully dropped the girl to pounce on the man who was clearly underestimating his petite but mighty partner. “Mr. Beauchamp you are under arrest for child endangerment. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.” He read him his miranda rights just as two officers in a piercing sky blue could be seen out in the hallway followed by two EMTs carrying med bags. Mulder pushed Beauchamp toward the officers, meeting them in the hallway, explaining the circumstances they found him in. The EMTs began working on Elizabeth, one of them eventually carrying her down the stairs that were far too narrow to fit a stretcher or even a backboard. As they got her into the back of the ambulance, Elizabeth finally met Scully’s eyes with her greyish blue ones – the distance and the brokenness she saw in them would stay with her for years, she knew. Buried beneath the pain, Scully thought she saw a hint of relief and she offered a slight, tight-lipped smile as the doors closed.


	5. Chapter 5

_All those nights alone, demons that you've never known_  
_ Will run through_  
_ Never had a hope, never let your wings unfold_  
_ But I know you_

_But redemption will come for you so_  
_ Guess I'll just call it a feeling_  
_ Tonight, I'll just comfort you so_  
_ Baby, you could start to believe_

_-Dermot Kennedy, Redemption_

Mulder followed her to her hotel room, emotionally exhausted. After the police had taken Peter and Maribel Beauchamp into custody and taken Kendra in for questioning, he and Scully had stayed behind to question the kids from the sanctuary. They’d been overwhelmingly reticent in their answers but eventually they were able to ascertain that at least two others had been victim to the Beauchamp exorcism. Tomorrow they’d have to file official reports with local law enforcement so that they could hopefully get the conviction necessary to keep those lunatics off the streets and away from any other unsuspecting children.

“It’s grooming, Mulder,” Scully said sadly, settling herself on the bed. “It’s not different than what pedophiles do. They seek out vulnerable children, manipulate them into their worldview and distort any versions of truth until it fits with their own twisted reality. How many more churches around the entire country are utilizing similar methods to help unsuspecting kids who are different in some way. From homosexuality, to undiagnosed disabilities, to mental illnesses—who gets to decide who is right, Mulder? And what hope is there when all of this goes on behind closed doors, with an entire knowing congregation looking the other way?” He rushed over and sat next to her at the sight of the first tear, folding her in onto his chest. He kicked off his feet, settling up against the headboard, her head buried into his chest, tears wetting his dress shirt. He was certain that, while this case had clearly had an effect on her, the similarities to her dealings with Pfaster a few weeks ago were still fresh.

He couldn’t find the words, so he just held her. He wondered about the effect her failed exorcism would have on Elizabeth, if her family even knew the lengths that were being taken to cleanse her of her purely natural born proclivities. He hoped she’d be able to get proper psychological care by a trained professional. He knew firsthand that unhealed wounds from childhood had a way of affecting or arresting the trajectory of your life. He wanted more for her, and he remembered the journal still sitting weighing down the pocket of his coat.

“We’ll go visit her tomorrow after we stop at the police station, okay?” He asked quietly, and she brought her wet eyes up to meet his, nodding. “We caught her in time, Scully. She can get the help she needs now.” She felt reassured and began to self-consciously wipe the tears from her face. “Shhh,” he reached up and stroked at the moisture with the back of his fingers. “You’re beautiful, and you were exactly what she needed tonight.” He scooted himself down, level with her and the laid on their sides facing each other, his left hand trailing a leisurely path from the top of her hair to her hip and back, cupping her cheek on it’s return.

“I know your hunch didn’t pan out, but Mulder…” a look of helplessness wrote a story across her eyes. “If we hadn’t been here,” she started but the words wouldn’t come. Her brain filled in the rest.

_She would have died._

_More kids would be tortured._

_The demons masquerading as saints would have gotten away with it._

He heard everything she didn’t say aloud and brought his lips to her forehead. He wasn’t a firm believer in fate; the appearance of the empathetic fired haired goddess in his arms the only proof he had that it might possibly exist. Tonight, he was a believer.

>< >< >< ><

They made their way through Flower Hospital, hand in hand, any concern for improprieties left in the hotel room they’d vacated hours earlier.

They’d fallen asleep fully clothed and woken in the early hours of the morning. They’d wordlessly undressed and crawled back into bed, no expectations just bone-weary emotional exhaustion. Sleep had come easily after that, her small body enveloped by his larger one. She’d pulled him as closely as she could manage and was using his left hand to cuddle as if it were a pillow, his arm stretching through the valley between her breasts to allow her comfort. He fell asleep breathing in the scent of her hair, feeling the steady thrum of hear heartbeat against the soft swell of her breast. They hadn’t ever crossed this threshold before, let alone on a case. Neither of them expected to go any further, but the comfort gained from the skin on skin contact and pretenses abandoned in the form of high-end fabrics littering the floor was the only thing they’d needed in that moment.

They’d awoken that morning with her nuzzled up against his side, head resting over his chest—his hand, as ever in its supportive telltale place on the small of her back. There were no shy apologies, no sidelong expressions or doubt-filled glances. He’d kissed her, briefly on the lips and wished her good morning before they both had risen and gotten ready in their respective bathrooms. It was comfortable, oddly familiar and he knew his days waking up apart from her were numbered.

Walking through an unknown hospital in small-ish town Ohio was hardly a concern at this point.

Mulder pointed out room 239 and knocked.

“Come in,” an older voice came from inside and he pushed the door open, moving aside for Scully to enter. They were met by the sight of an older woman, mid 50s with greying hair sitting in the seat at the side of Elizabeth’s bedside. “You must be the FBI agents,” she exclaimed, once she’d realized and she stood quickly and giving them both full hugs.

“Yes,” Mulder replied, accepting the hug graciously. “Would you be Elizabeth’s aunt?” He asked, revealing just a fragment of the information he’d gleaned from her journal.

“I’m Anne,” she nodded in the affirmative. “The police told me what happened, I had no idea. I’m so thankful you both were there.” She went back around the bed, gripping the hand of the girl who face now held a healthy pink sheen, the IV bags of saline and nutrients doing the trick. Scully walked over and checked the bags—force of habit and she sat on the other side of the bed, reaching up to take Elizabeth’s other hand.

“How are you feeling?” The question was loaded, both women knew it.

“Anne, can I speak with you outside for a few minutes?” Mulder mercifully asked before the girl could answer. Anne agreed and before Mulder followed her out, he winked at Elizabeth, offered a nonverbal apology and dropped her journal on the bed near hers and Scully’s joined hands.

Maybe Scully would have expected the girl to gasp at the obvious intrusion into her private world, but she didn’t. This filled her with such a sense of sorrow and made her question just how extensive her ordeal the previous night had been.

“We found it in the church,” Scully offered, needing to justify their breech of her privacy.

“I don’t have any secrets anymore,” her voice was so soft and conquered that it broke Scully’s heart anew. “Maybe if you hadn’t read it you wouldn’t have found me.”

There was a silence the stretched on for almost a full minute before either of them dared to speak again, the ramifications of that hung in the air like an imposition.

“Everyone battles demons, Elizabeth.” Scully started, squeezing the girl’s hand just for a moment. “But those demons should be things you can change—these things you’re fighting, God _made_ you that way. It wasn’t a punishment, and it wasn’t a test.” She could see tears beginning to well in the corner of the girl’s eyes.

“No one’s ever told me that before.”

Her reply wasn’t unexpected, and that alone spoke volumes to the environment that she was surrounded by and the overall national social climate.

“You should be getting advice from professionals,” Scully explained. “People who have already walked in your shoes.” She reached out and lifted the downcast face by the chin. “Promise me that you’ll find a licensed therapist to talk all of this through with.” The girl nodded. “I’ll do some research and find someone you can talk to about the rest of it. Mulder and I will get you connected with an LGBT support group or something so you can talk with people who have already dealt with the persecution you’ve been facing.” The tears finally succumbed and began careening down her cheeks. Scully recognized shame when she saw it and a verse she hadn’t spoken aloud in probably decades popped into her mind. “You were fearfully and wonderfully made, Elizabeth. Exactly as you are.”

Elizabeth broke at that, knowing no one had ever given her permission to be herself. No one in her whole life had given her freedom from judgment about who she really was, the things she could do and she broke. She threw her arms around Scully, unable to stop the flood of moisture from falling; truthfully at the point she wasn’t even trying.

The peace she’d expected after the cleansing ceremony had been replaced by dread and fear of death—an almost physical weight pressing against her chest, arresting her breathing.

Here, in the face of acceptance from a total stranger she took her first fully cleansing breath in years.


End file.
